poem: sad confession put to good music

i am still loving you

carefully and cautiously

and finally (finally!) the words are pouring

out of me like music.

they told me:

forget, because he will forget. Do not

bother to remember the faires breathing small

and quick in the cracks of

our lives. do not bother,

because they die like moths in the sun. And

to this I say:

so what? there is always beauty, growing silent

and thick in


and in love,

and i in love i stay, very coldly and very



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